Breaking Glass
by thelinksthatconnectus
Summary: Jericho thought he could escape his past - escape his father. Yet no matter how far he ran, Slade still found him. Torn from his peaceful life, Jericho is forced into the role of his father's apprentice. Still, that doesn't mean that he won't fight back (and Slade is teaching him lots of wonderful fighting techniques). Cartoon/Comics mash up


You awaken to the steady turning of clocks and the harsh smell of dust. Wherever you are, it is dark and cold - the perfect kind of place to be forgotten in. With shaking legs, you get out of the small bed that you were arranged upon and step barefoot onto a cold cement floor. The walls look strange, as if bits of them had been taken apart from other places and then stuck together again - like forcing puzzle pieces together that do not actually fit. Still, the place seems as though it can hold itself up.

The night before is a blur - a fog hangs over your mind. Nothing had seemed threatening the night before. But then again, nothing had seemed threatening on the day those two goons were sent by the Brotherhood of Evil to attack you.

Your footsteps echo across the walls as you walk. Once you start moving, your body relaxes, easily going through the motions of walking. However, your ears and eyes are alert, and your curled fists are raised.

The door is heavy, and the dull metal knob cold in your hand. Still, it turns and you lead yourself out.

This place is damp, and pebbles litter the ground. Half of the time you have to keep your eyes on the ground, and the other ahead of you. Damaged feet, after all, would only make the situation worse.

"Joey?"

Your heart races, and you walk towards the sound; there is very little light, save a few scattered, low power light bulbs. Is that really him?

"Joey, are you feeling sick?"

A chill runs down your spine, and goosebumps rise up across your neck and arms. Suddenly you are not Jericho, the lonely, guitar playing mountain boy, but Joey Wilson. Slade is again your father, his voice calm and paced, almost as if he is asking if you caught a stomach bug or the flu at school. For a moment, you get to relive a past life and dig up a long buried boy.

You keep walking forward, shaking your head as you do so.

"Good," he replies. "I was so worried about you."

When you finally can see him, it is hard to tell him apart from the shadows. His mask is on (it is not as though you do not know what is underneath). He stands to the side, near a wall, and still towers over you. Grant was the lucky one who inherited your father's height, while you got Adeline's shorter stature. Were it not for the brown and orange shade on his mask then you might not have noticed him at all.

* * *

You change slowly, knowing that your father is just outside the door waiting. The suit is perfectly your size, fitting you like a glove. It is not so different from your father's own costume, though built for a different body type and not nearly as heavy. When you came back inside the small room from earlier, you saw it laid out on the bed waiting for you.

After your initial meeting this morning, and your strike to his face, his temper has drawn close to the surface. Outside, he paces around, his footsteps echoing down the hall and through your door.

"Do not dare strike at me ever again," he had said, grabbing your wrist. He squeezed it hard, forcing your fist to uncurl and for you to grind your teeth together. Pain shot through every part of your body. "I already told you why I brought you here; I've thought over my life - all my plans, all my failures, and all the people that I forgot." His voice softened, but not his grip. "I already lost Grant, the son who practically wanted to be me. I cannot risk losing another, nor can I let anyone else know what I'm teaching you. This is important; it could save your life."

And then he had said those words, the ones that made your blood curl and bile rise in the back of your throat.

"You are my apprentice now, Joey." He had said it so firmly, in the tone of voice that you had always listened to when you were a child. The only real difference is that you are a teenager now, and Slade was not making you to do something like take out the trash.

The suit has all the fancy gadgets on it - enough hidden pockets to hold an entire weapons store, durable fabric, and good (while lightweight) protective armor. There's a small chip for your ear, and gloves that can electrify if needed, Out of all the good things it has, you notice that there is no mask. Nothing to hide your face - your eyes - with.

As you put on your last bit of clothing - the gloves - your stomach twists.

Outside, the pacing grows louder. You race towards the door, though it is only a few feet from you. Quickly, you open it.

"Are you ready?" Slade sounds irritated, and his hands are moving at his sides.

You nod. What else can you do?

* * *

Your father's hideout is not as empty as you had originally thought. When you enter into the main room, Wintergreen meets your eyes.

"Master Joseph," he comments, taking a small bow. His suit is neat, without a single wrinkle or speck of dust, and his grey hair is combed back neatly. "It has been some time since we saw each other last, has it not?"

You nod absently, looking away from him. Why must he point out the obvious?

Wintergreen is older now, with even sharper eyes. Even as you look away from him, his eyes burn through your body. Was your father not enough? In his hands are a metal tray of food, and on it are two plates piled high with syrup covered waffles and eggs.

Despite the conditions around you, you lick your lips. The waffles smell heavenly, their warm scent rising through the air. Syrup is placed on rather liberally, and small brown pools have formed next to the sunny side up eggs. Your mouth waters.

Wintergreen's eyes gleam. "Are you hungry, Master Joseph?"

Before you can raise your hands and form a reply, your stomach rumbles. The sound is heavy, and surely everyone in the room must hear it.

"Do sit down," Wintergreen comments, and motions towards a table. It is completely bare and made of hard metal, with a few hard looking, straight backed metal chairs scattered around it. His eyes leave you. "Master Slade, you will be joining him. Or do I presume wrong?"

He shakes his head. Ever since you attacked him earlier, jumped forward and struck him as hard as you possibly could with your fist, he has kept his mask on tight. Now he has something else to hide.

"I have other business to face," he responds, stepping further away. The lights are dim, and very little can be seen of him. His deep voice, the very sound oozing of power, makes up for what you cannot see. Then, he turns and leaves, his footsteps slowly becoming a distant thud until you can hear nothing at all.

"I see," Wintergreen comments, and then motions you over to the table. "Oh, do sit down. Your sister will be in here shortly to join you."

Your eyes widen and you raise an eyebrow.

"I had thought that your father would have informed you of Rose." He pulls out a chair, and you reluctantly sit. Still, even if you were on your feet, where could you run to? "Well, you shall meet her soon enough. I will be back in a moment. Right now she is rather heavily caught in her solo training; surely she has worked herself up an appetite by now." He places the plates of waffles down along with two sets of silverware, putting one right in front of you and the other in the spot directly opposite of you. "You may start if you wish."

You grab a fork and knife, ignore your reflection on them, and begin to cut the food up. All that you see is waffles and syrup, and a quick bite of them tastes completely normal. The waffles are warm, soft, and flaky, while the maple syrup is sweet and sticky.

By the time Rose, your sister (a younger version of yourself would be jumping for joy at having a new sibling, but you merely remain seated, eyes firmly stuck on your waffles), arrives, you have finished a fourth of your waffles.

She stands beside Wintergreen, in an outfit similar to yours. Her one cold blue eye meets yours, and where another once had been is a dark eyepatch. Her hair is white, the same shade as your father's. For a girl her age, only a few years younger than you, it looks far from natural. The eyepatch and hair are not the only similarities she shares with your father, however. Her eye is the same shade of blue, and her facial shape is similar to Slade's. The same nose sits on her face.

"Joey," she says, voice surprisingly high, and smiles at you. The smile is genuine, and you cannot help but smile back at her. "Father has told me so much about you."

You stiffen, your eyes returning to your plate. Your grip on the metal utensils tightens, turning your tanned fists white.

Rose sits down, her eye still on you.

You continue to cut your waffles. The next few bites taste nowhere near as sweet. The middle tastes completely different, a taste that you cannot identify at all. Still, you swallow, eyes on your plate and away from the sister you never knew that you had.

The food hangs in your throat, and it takes two hard attempts at swallowing to get it down.

Wintergreen returns with two steaming cups of coffee and a small pitcher of milk. You take it and pour a good amount into your coffee before stirring it with your previously unused spoon. It is hot, but nothing that you cannot keep down. The coffee goes down easier than the waffles.

Rose's stare burns, and finally you look up to her and raise your hands, leaving your fork and knife on your plate. You sign, your hands moving slower than normal, asking how she is.

She raises an eyebrow and looks over to Wintergreen.

"Did your father not inform you...?" His sentence stops suddenly.

Rose nods. "He did tell me, I was just hoping that you could translate."

He nods. "He was asking how you were, Mistress Rose."

She looks back to you, and this time you meet her gaze. "I am doing well. That earlier training was just to get my blood pumping. Now, I could twice as much as earlier and just barely break a sweat." She grins, showing off straight white teeth; you do not return this with a smile of your own.

The waffles have lost any and all of their earlier taste by the time that you finish. The eggs taste normal, but there is nothing special to them. You eat it robotically, putting one bite in after the other, and chewing and swallowing at a timed pace.

If you do not eat now, then who knows when Slade will next feed you?

Wintergreen wordlessly takes away your empty plate and returns a short time later with another.

"Master Slade has advised me to give you seconds. He believes you to be rather thin."

You merely pick up your fork and knife and begin to eat.

Rose's arms, you notice, are well muscled. When Wintergreen wordlessly brings her more food, she thanks him and digs in.

Wintergreen refills your coffee mug, and you swallow it all in a few gulps. There is no milk this time, making the coffee extra bitter, but you keep it down. Again, he refills your mug.

"Someone is thirsty," Wintergreen comments, though his eyes are not on you.

"Ready for training?" Rose asks.

You nod before quickly returning to your food. Rose swallows the lie as easily as she does her breakfast.

The eggs and waffles again hang in your throat.

Once you (somehow) finish, Rose stands up, her plate forgotten. She motions for you to follow her and you do, leaving the table and the crumbs it holds behind. From the corner of your eye, you watch Wintergreen step in and grab the plates.

The training room is the opposite of everything else inside this place. Where other parts were cold and dark, this place is bright and warm. Sweat forms on the back of your neck the moment that you step inside, and you have to blink a few times before your eyes finally adjust to the lighting. The room is made of sleek metal walls and a hard stone floor, though mats are placed around the room. Weapons of all kinds, from what must be nearly every place on earth, line the walls.

Rose walks forward and grabs a sword, like the kind a medieval night would use.

For a moment, you can only stand at a distance, taking in everything before you. What weapon should you use when you cannot even name half of them?

"Joey, is something wrong?"

You snap from your daze and look over to your sister. You shake your head.

"It's okay to grab something. Father will not mind." She holds the sword rather casually at her side, as if she has done this a thousand times before. Considering who she lives with, she probably has.

You grab a hard metal staff, and hold it first with two hands and then one.

"I do not know when father will get here, so I suppose it is just one on one practice between you and me." She smirks. "Do not think that just because you're my brother means that I'll go easy on you." Her expression softens, and she puts the sword back up. "First up, we should probably stretch though."

Rose begins to stretch out her arms and legs, and you soon follow. Your muscles relax even as you work them harder; this is not too different from your own morning exercise routine back home on the mountain, though surely there will be no peaceful walk among the flowers afterwards.


End file.
